Magnum Opie
by yorickjones
Summary: Sit back in Floyd's chair and listen to the story of Opie Taylor's run-in with hard edged San Francisco cop Harry Callahan. Andy Griffith Show/Dirty Harry x-over


**MAGNUM OPIE**

"Ooohh, well now that _is_ surprising," the old man said as he swept a black comb through the slick hair of the customer seated in one of the shop's creaking barber chairs, "I can't believe you wouldn't have heard the story yet. It's a – a real _doo_zy, that's for sure."

Without waiting for a go-ahead (or any sign of interest for that matter) from his captive audience, the thick-spectacled barber lifted a pair of scissors and continued in his lilting, oddly staggered delivery, "Now this was, oh, just a couple of years ago now. Right after the Bicentennial I recall – or later; it's hard to tell when you have so many people around here who - who leave up their flags and bunting and such for so long after the fact. Not that that's a _bad_ thing, understand – oh no – but then you have folks like Howard Sprague leaving his Christmas tree up until the beginning of February. Honestly." The barber clucked his tongue and lifted his considerable black eyebrows. "Oh, but Opie, yes, I was talking about Opie.

"This is while Opie was out west going to school in Berkeley – California, you know, just across from San Francisco. He majored in journalism. Such a smart boy. Always was. Good boy. We were all so – so proud when he went off. Whole town threw him a farewell party. Only time I ever saw Andy – that's Andy Taylor, Opie's pa – only time I ever saw him get all misty eyed. He sure did.

"Now you'll hear – you'll hear all _kinds_ of things about those schools out there – what goes on, all the – the protests and the drug taking and the – the hippies like during the war. All of those young men with the long, long hair. Oohh-" he briefly trailed off with a shake of his head and a look to the faded poster of men's hairstyles adorning the wall between the long mirrors. The dozen variations on the buzzcut and the D.A. seemed to reassure him. The barber started back in with a couple of quick clips, "But Opie did just fine. He made the dean's list each year and was writing articles for the school paper. Real news stories like you find in the big town papers – like – like the _News and Observer_ out of Raleigh. Andy and Helen had already moved out to Cleveland by then but Barney – Barney Fife, I mean – Barney subscribed to that school paper and he came in here whenever it arrived to read Opie's stories to us. I've never heard such big and – and _important_ sounding words in all my life.

"Well, Opie was writing kind of investigative type stories – he and his writing partner, a boy named Danny Gelman – a Jewish fellow I believe. They did all kinds of what you'd call 'exposés' – yes, 'exposés' of bad and – and_ illegal_ things they saw happening on campus. Sort of calling attention to it, you know, so the local authorities could step in and put a stop to it. That's Opie all right – sees something wrong and sets it right. Mm-hmm.

"Now Opie and Danny found out that there was a group off-campus that were bringing in narcotics to sell to the students. Ooh, but not the usual drugs you might expect. Not the – the happy weed that the beatniks and – and musician folk like those Darlin's from the hills roll up in cigarettes, this group was selling the hippy type drugs: the _LSD_ that you've probably seen on the TV – the kind that makes kids think they can fly and whatnot. So Opie decides he and Danny should sort of _infiltrate_ this drug selling group. See, from what they knew this bunch was set up like one of those oddball religious groups like you'll see at the big city airports – the Moonies or the Hairy Krishnas – basically hippies with haircuts or no hair at all, for that matter." The barber's head shook once more, "One thing I cannot for the life of me understand is a man who would – who would walk around _bald_ on purpose."

The barber lapsed into quiet as if the point of his story had been lost in the rhythmic snip of his scissors. But with a comb swipe through his customer's ruler-straight left sided part, the barber rejoined the tale.

"What Opie and his friend found out once they won the trust of these 'flower children' or what-have-you, is that that's not what they were at all. No. See, it turns out that they were just –just pre_tending_ to be about the 'peace and love' hooey that the kids back then were always going on about. All a sham. Opie found out that the drugs were really coming from a terrible gang of - of motorcycle hooligans, like your 'you-know-where's Angels.'"

Unexpectedly, the barber now expelled a chuffing laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry. There's nothing funny – nothing at _all_ – about those thugs. I'm just remembering when Goober decided to start his own motorcycle gang. He'd seen it in some – some _movie_ I suppose and he got caught up in it as he tends to do. He bought himself a leather jacket – did that first – and only _then_ did he get a beat-up old motorbike. What a racket it made! Well, it didn't last long since you need more than one person to make up a gang. That and the fact that he could barely make _one trip_ 'round the – the town square without falling off that thing. Dear me!"

At this point the barber was genuinely laughing and the customer became increasingly aware of the blades of the scissors shaking in the old man's hands. A little too close to his neck for comfort. He shifted in his seat until the barber regained his composure, wiping at a tear in his eye.

"What was I on about?" he asked, gulping in air. "Oh, Opie's story. Sure. He was very careful about the whole thing but, even though he knew that this gang was suspected of every crime in the book – ooohh, even a few _killings_ in San Francisco, Opie and Danny they published their story. Oh my, they caused _such_ a stir. The local police there used the information Opie'd found to make some – some arrests though there wasn't enough evidence to keep those men in jail for very long. The im_por_tant thing I suppose is that they did lock up the gang's leader, a shaggy, scary looking individual with a face even a mother would be – would be _hard-pressed_ to love I must say, and they finally got that gang of drug sellers out of the school for good.

"That should've ended it right there. I wish it had.

"Wasn't more than three months or so later that the police – the _San Francisco_ police – came to Opie and Danny and told them that they were in danger. It was the bikers, see, they had starting killing people that they figured had something to do with that story, starting with their own members who'd talked to Opie. These first murders they had spread out and since the dead people had been bad types themselves the police didn't immediately reckon that the killings had anything to do with – with the boys' exposé.

"The – I guess you would call him the _main investigator_ on the case was a detective by the name of Callahan. I'd hesitate to say he's a Catholic, but that's – that's as _Irish_ a name as you're likely to hear. Opie always describes this Detective Callahan a certain way – calls him '_stony_' or '_flinty_.' Ooooh, a hard character for sure but good at his job. Different, _very_ different than Andy Taylor – night and day – but a good policeman all the same. Callahan and his officers came to see Opie first – see, they wanted to get both Opie and Danny into – into 'police protection.' Opie understood of course and agreed right away. Now they went straight 'round to Danny's house to get him too but when they got there they found the – they found the place all a shambles – just a _mess_. Danny wasn't there at all but they found a – a note from the gang. They'd _kid_napped Danny, y'see, I should've made that clear. That note I mentioned just now was telling the police that they had Danny and would free him in exchange for their leader. Well, I don't need to tell you how upset this made Opie and how angry this made the detective. Callahan ordered his men to take Opie back to headquarters for his own safety but Opie would have _none_ of it. No sir, he demanded to – to tag along with Callahan. Loyal friend that Opie, raised right by Andy, yes sir. Callahan wasn't happy about that idea but he agreed since Opie had the better ideas where the gang might holed up."

Despite the hypnotic lull of the barber's voice and his slow, methodical navigation of the head under his blades, the customer found himself drawn into the rambling narrative, mentally urging the old man onward.

"Of course the police had no intention of giving over the gang leader but they demanded that Callahan and Opie stay put until there was some further word from the kidnappers. That said, Callahan felt there was no reason he and Opie couldn't – couldn't see if they might discover their hideout in advance. Opie suspects Callahan knew what the police were likely to do, which is try to _ambush_ the gang during the exchange. Sounds almost like a Western when you put it like that. Heh.

"So off they went, just Callahan and Opie in the detective's car, and they struck gold on their third stop. I wish Opie were here to tell the story because he tells it so much better – oohh, you should hear him describe this place they stopped at; a condemned building sort of just _jumbled_ on the waterfront area of town called the Embarcadero. Broken-out windows and – and _filthy rats_ scrambling about the stoop. Now Callahan surely didn't know for a fact that this was the place – he was just getting out of the car to take a look when he hears little - little _clackety-clack_ sounds from the roof of the building. Rifles, y'see. Mmm. The gang had lookouts on the roof of the building the whole time and they shouted down to Callahan, asking him if he'd brought their leader to them. Callahan had one of those bullhorns in his car and he used it to answer back. He tells them no, he hasn't but that the police are working all of that out. Then he asked the gang if they would be willing to negotiate though Opie says it looked like it – it _pained_ Detective Callahan to say that. Well, he hardly has time to finish the words when something comes _fly_ing off the roof . Opie says he had no idea what it was until it hit the ground – it happened so – so _fast_ I suppose. It was his friend Danny, poor soul, his _hands_ – they'd tied them behind his back and they had _gagged_ his mouth. God bless him – just two months away from his wedding. Opie was to be his best man, you know. Danny hit the ground not twenty feet from Opie and he says the boy looked like – like his Aunt Bea's cherry cobbler."

In the barber chair, the customer stared with both revulsion and fascination at the old man who merely snipped away, his mild expression never changing.

"Opie was in shock for the most part – you can imagine – but Detective Callahan, oohh, well, it's like somebody lit a fire. He muttered something very, eh, _colorful_ at the kidnappers, calling them 'punks' I believe, which is as good a word as any for those worthless killers, and then he told Opie to find some cover before he took off into the building . Now Opie was still stunned, true, but he wasn't – wasn't about to _hide_ either. No sir. So he up and followed Callahan into the hideout. Reckless you could say but a man who sees his – his best buddy die in front of his eyes, well, he's not thinking too straight, I can tell you. Happened a lot back in the big one, or so I hear. Couldn't enlist myself, you see, something about my eyesight."

The barber's scissors slid coldly just under the customer's left earlobe and the man in the chair gave a slight shudder.

"What Opie saw in the next few minutes sounds like something they'd cook up in Hollywood, but that boy is as honest as the – as the day is long so you can believe it. While I myself have been known to stretch the truth a touch to spin a yarn worth hearing I would _never_ do that with this story. This is just as Opie wrote it up for the papers. Did you say you wanted to keep these sideburns?"

The customer seemed thrown by the simple question, but managed to respond in the affirmative. The elderly barber nodded with a slightly furrowed brow and a noncommittal "hmmph." For the first time since taking his seat, the customer actually prompted the barber to continue his story.

"_Suuure_. Now, the detective and Opie have – have rushed into the building and then the biker hooligans come _stream_ing out of every door in the place just like insects will do when the lights come on, only these roaches were running _at _them instead of away. Some were charging down the center staircase of the building and others were – they were leaning over the railings all the way up just _firing_ their guns. Dear. The noise must have been just _terrible_. Opie says that bullets were whizzing past his head and blowing holes in the walls and the – the floors around him but he couldn't take his eyes off of Callahan. Oohh, a real – real _'cool customer'_ as the kids say. The detective had his own gun drawn, a _massive_ thing, a .44 caliber Magnum it's called but Opie says they should've just called it a Howitzer that's how big it was. Callahan fired six times and six men fell. Not a shot wasted. Hard to believe I know, but Opie – he saw it with his own eyes.

"They stayed on the first floor and Callahan grabbed Opie and pulled him into one of the empty rooms nearby. Callahan was watching out of a crack in the door while he – he reloaded his gun. He fussed at Opie something _fierce_, asking him if he were determined to end up as dead as his friend – calling Opie a 'walking, red-headed target.' And he does have the _brightest_ red hair Opie does, just like his – his lovely mother had, rest her. I myself gave that boy his every haircut up until he went away to school. See him when he comes through town now and again too but, truth be told, there's a lot _less_ up there to cut. He wears a lot of baseball caps these days."

The barber paused, having just attempted to trim the customer's right sideburn. He squinted into the mirror, eyes shifting back and forth between each side of the customer's face. Apparently dissatisfied with the symmetry of his work, he turned his attention to the left sideburn that he had already cropped.

"Opie and Callahan they were waiting in that room, listening to the ruckus going on above. Callahan figured there were probably five to seven bad men left in the building and he told – he told Opie that it wouldn't be long before they started down the stairs, trying to escape. He was sure to pick them off as they came but he made Opie _swear_ he'd stay hidden in that room until the shooting stopped and Callahan came back for him. After that everything went _so fast_, Opie says. I suppose it would.

"Callahan waited until he heard feet on the stairs and out he went. BOOM! He fired again and down came another – another _punk_ dropping over the railing and – BOOM! – another who'd barely stepped onto the landing. The next two came together , rushing down the stairs, one firing high and one low. Opie says that Callahan didn't flinch a bit, just pulled his trigger and - and _dropped_ the crouched biker who rolled down the stairs. Then the detective aimed again but he and the other gunman fired at the same time. The bad man went down sure enough but – but so did Callahan. Mmm. Shot in the trunk, you see, just under the – the ribs. Still alive but, oohh, in so much _pain_, you can imagine. Callahan was kind of sitting against the wall, bleeding _awfully_, and cursing a blue streak. The last of the gang must've heard this and knew the detective was hurt so he – he left his cover and started down the stairs. Opie could hear him coming and could hear – he heard this biker hooligan _taunting_ Callahan – calling him a '_pig_' and whatnot. _Tsk_ – such disre_spect_ for law enforcement – even _Barney_ deserves better-"

The barber absently trimmed away at the rapidly diminishing left sideburn and now realized that he had once again misjudged. "Never could get them even…," he muttered with a shake of his head before switching over once again to the right side of his customer's face.

"Opie knew that Callahan probably only had seconds before the last gunman shot him dead and he could see Callahan's gun on the floor, out of the detective's reach, now Opie, y'see, he had a _choice_ – he could stay hidden and let Callahan – just let him die, or he could make a – a move and try to _help_. I know it sounds obvious what he would do – I suspect anybody who knew the boy could tell you the same – but there was a moment there… Opie's a _good boy_, understand, and a good – a good _Christian_, he was taught well by his father about the – the value of every human life, no matter how _worthless_. Then he saw the gunman's shadow on the wall of the staircase and he-"

The customer suddenly yelped in pain which alerted the barber to the small slice he'd made in the customer's cheek with the straight razor he was using to clean the edges of the sideburn. "Did I get you? Oohhh, now I _am_ sorry about that. Here-"

The barber dabbed a small towel at the welling blood on his customer's face.

"Now that's – that's my clumsiness, getting _carried away_, mm-hm. How about we knock a dollar off this trip, okay? That sound all right?"

The man in the chair accepted the offer and insisted he was fine. But what had happened to Opie and the detective?

"Oh!" the barber exclaimed, surprised and pleased. "Oh yes, well, Opie rushed out of hiding just in the nick of time and grabbed up Callahan's gun – _heavy, heavy_ thing, he always says – and fired at the surprised biker. One shot and took that bad man right down. Opie may be a good Christian but he's also a sheriff's son and he did his daddy _proud_. Saved Callahan's life he did and earned himself a – a _commendation_ from the Chief of Police. Yes, sir. Our little Opie Taylor. See I _told_ you it was a good story."

The customer, checking out his uneven sideburns and cut cheek, agreed. Beaming at the customer, who was already rising from the chair and going for his wallet, the barber snapped the blood-stained bib to rid it of loose hair.

"_Mmm_. He said that gun kicked like a – like a mule and it sounded like a blasting cap. At that range, Opie says he blew that punk's head clean off."

Looking uneasily at the old man, the customer handed over a couple of folded bills. The barber took the money, chuckling to himself.

"Heh. _Clean off_."


End file.
